


ease

by crownsandbirds



Series: don't keep love around [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, best friends to strangers to lovers, i wanted to give it a happy ending, that's literally it - Freeform, this is a sequel to Evermore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 04:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11395134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownsandbirds/pseuds/crownsandbirds
Summary: True to the bitter prediction Oikawa made years ago, him and Iwaizumi Hajime have been taking the exact same train at the exact same time every night for almost a year. It’s unfair, after almost a decade of virtually no interaction between them, having to endure seeing the face of the man who once was the most important person in his life and is now a stranger, such a stranger Oikawa doesn’t have the guts to bid him goodnight or a safe ride home.





	ease

**Author's Note:**

> "take me back to the basics and the simple life,  
> tell me all of the things that make you feel at ease.  
> your touch, my comfort, and my lullaby,  
> holdin' on tight and sleepin' at night.  
> the truth is, the stars are falling, babe  
> and i'd never ever thought that i would say  
> i'm afraid of the life that i've made."
> 
> (ease - troye sivan)

 

Oikawa Tooru has always been the kind of person who’d do anything to get what he wants. His entire life is solid proof of that: he studied in the high school he picked himself, he went to the exact college he wanted. After graduating medical school, he bought his own apartment, despite his family’s protests, who’d wanted him to live with his older sister and his nephew for a while. He’d been walking around town and saw a small, colorful building near his favorite cafeteria, and decided then and there he’d make that a home for himself. He saved and scraped and struggled and bought an apartment for him in that exact same building. He became a psychiatrist - a very good one at that - despite everyone saying he’d make a great surgeon. 

Ever since his thirteenth birthday, there’s absolutely no one in the world who can properly tame Oikawa and make him do something he doesn’t actually want to. 

Well. There is. But Oikawa hasn’t talked to him in approximately 8 years. So it doesn’t count.

Anyway. 

He takes a train to his office at 6 in the morning everyday, smiles and gives prescriptions and diagnostics and paper tissues and lectures and warnings and advices until lunch time. He eats by himself or with his best friend, who runs an advertising company just around the corner, when they both manage to match their schedules. At 1pm, he goes back to work, and gives it everything he has until the last patient has walked out of his door. He takes the train back home, orders takeout for dinner and works on his novel until he's too tired to keep his eyes open.

It's a good enough life. He has a lot more money than he knows what to do with it, he's on his way to publish his first novel with a good company, he has friends from college, he likes his neighbors a lot and he's actually very close to a handful of them. People flirt with him daily - he refuses all of them because he'd found out, during his time at a local hospital, that he doesn't really enjoy sex anyway. He has a huge library at his house, goes to the hairdresser twice a month, buys clothes, goes to the gym four times a week and reads far too much.  

He's successful, just like everyone always said he would be. His life worked out pretty nicely. 

As he stares at the two tiny pills on top of his desk, one for his OCD and one for his anxiety, he wonders where exactly he went wrong. 

He's alone at his office, closing up everything before taking the train back home. Like most things in his life, his office looks exactly like he wants it to look - soft, comfortable, welcoming, with fluffy carpets and nice couches at the waiting room. He picks the background music himself everyday and brings chocolate for his younger patients and coffee or tea for the older ones. 

It all just feels smothering when he's by himself.

He shakes his head, trying to avoid going into his famed _analytical overthinking mode_ , and downs the two pills with a glass of water.

 ( _"When you get like that, Oikawa, it's like you're trying to read our minds. It's kind of scary, to be honest."_

_"Oh, well. Don't mind me, Suga-chan. I'm just trying to read my own mind, I swear."_ ) 

He detests taking meds. He hates it completely, hates the feeling of them sliding down his throat, hates getting nauseous as a side effect, hates how they make him even more irritated and whiny than usual. 

The only good part is that it makes him feel closer to his patients, like he understands them more clearly because he goes through something similar. 

He pulls on his gloves, drapes his white coat over the back of his chair and locks the door behind him. 

-

His best friend calls just before Oikawa takes the train home. 

"Hey, Makki." he answers, shoving the phone between his ear and shoulder and leaning back against the wall of the station as he awkwardly tries to organize the papers inside his bag. 

"Okay, so. I'll cut this short because you're probably going to get in the train in a bit. What's the chance of you agreeing to have your book release at an LGBT event I'm going to promote?"

Oikawa frowns as he maneuvers into a empty spot at a bench. "I'm sorry, what?"

Makki sighs - it sounds as static. "Me and my advertising agency want to promote a LGBT event at that nice little art studio near your home. To, you know, protest. Because people are fucking dying." 

Makki sounds angry, and he has every right to be so. Oikawa is pissed as well. Hate crimes have been showing up a lot more because of the upcoming election. People have died. It makes Oikawa angry enough for it to show on his writing. 

“That’s great, Makki. I mean it.” Oikawa says, sincerely. He can’t do much more other than write his soul out on his novels. He wishes he could. 

“Yeah, well, it took a while before everyone agreed with it. It was good, though, because then I found out who the homophobics were and fired them. Anyway. I know you’re as angry about that as me. And I know your novel is about that.” 

Not exactly. Oikawa’s first about-to-be-published novel is about a gay couple. By association, it’s about both hate and love. He doesn’t know how he’s going to explain that to his family when it comes out. He’s decided not to think about it until it happens.

“Yeah. So?”

“I want the event to be _good_. We invited scholars, artists and important people. And, I don’t know, it’d be so nice to have a book release. A lot of people are expecting your book to come out. So it’d draw more attention both to you and to the event.”

It sounds nice. It sounds great, actually. His publishers told him he can pick wherever he wants for the book release. He's been struggling to find a place for months, because he wants it to be _special_. Makki's idea would be more than enough special. He's familiar with the art studio where the event will be held - it's cozy, comfortable, artistic, colorful. Two of his neighbors work there. He himself goes there often when he wants to stop thinking or when he wants inspiration. He’d love to host his book release there. 

And yet. 

“I’d love to, Makki. But, I don’t know. My parents-”

“Won’t your parents be pissed anyway because of your novel’s plot?”

“It’s different. And it’d make things even worse.”

“Well, I don’t want to force you to anything.  But, Oikawa, you’re an adult now. You’re a great doctor, you’re filthy rich, you pay your own bills. Do what you want.” 

A very loud sound warns about the train’s arrival. Oikawa sighs deeply, scratching at his eyes under his glasses with his free hand. “I’ll think about it, I promise.”

“Okay. Get home safely.” Makki stays silent for a second before adding, “You know, ‘Kawa, you sound so _serious_ lately.”

“I’m not a stupid high schooler anymore, Makki. I’ve grown up.”

Makki laughs a little sadly. “Isn’t that a shame.”

- 

As soon as he gets inside the train, he regrets having hung up on Makki. He’s had a bad day - tomorrow he’ll have to ask for the hospitalisation of one of his patients who just won’t get better no matter how hard they both try and it hurts - and the last thing he needs is to see his ex-childhood best friend napping silently on his usual seat by the window. 

It’s nothing new. True to the bitter prediction Oikawa made years ago, him and Iwaizumi Hajime have been taking the exact same train at the exact same time every night for almost a year, ever since Oikawa left his job at the hospital and opened his own office. The first night, he bolted out the train as soon as possible and called Suga in tears, too disturbed to even explain what’d happened. He had to take a cab home - and then realized he was unable to fall asleep and went to Makki’s house just to have someone next to him while he slept. It’s _unfair_ , after almost a decade of virtually no interaction between them, having to endure seeing the face of the man who once was the most important person in his life and is now a stranger, such a stranger Oikawa doesn’t have the guts to bid him goodnight or a safe ride home. 

The two first weeks were hell. Hajime wouldn’t even look at him, didn’t seem to notice his existence at all. He considered taking a cab every night or walking to another station and taking another train. After a few months, though, he got used to it. Which doesn’t mean it became any easier. It has simply become routine. The alarm that wakes him up at 6am is as certain as taking the same train as the love of his childhood and teenage years. 

The ride lasts about 15 minutes. Sometimes Hajime reads - Oikawa is deeply pleased to see he started to read frequently again -, sometimes he puts on his earphones and stares out of the window the entire time, sometimes he calls people on the phone - Oikawa’s heart twisted in his chest the first time he saw Hajime laughing at something the other person had said to him during the call. Other days, though, on those days when he’s looking exhausted and rumpled and depressed, he simply sits down and naps until he gets to his station. 

All Oikawa does is watch him exist for those few minutes, making up impossible scenarios in his head where they strike up a conversation and start hanging out together and become friends again. 

Not that he’ll ever have the guts to even look Hajime in the eye. 

He’s not even sure what his ex-best friend does for a living. They completely lost contact after high school, and all Oikawa knows of him are bits and pieces of information delivered by Makki and Mattsun. 

He seems well-off, though. He has a brand new phone and a nice leather bag, despite his clothing style being as nonchalant as it’s been since high school. He’s not very much taller, apparently Oikawa will always be taller than him, but he’s stronger, his arms even more defined. He walks with more certainty now, and his voice is deeper, more sure of itself. 

He seems okay, stronger, more mature. He seems happy enough. 

Oikawa wants to grab his throat and slam him against a wall and ask him if he even remembers his name. But he’s afraid of the answer.

-

Hajime drops his wallet. 

It’s not been a very good day. Oikawa has taken the rest of the week off for himself after having to hospitalize his patient - the announcement was messy and everyone started yelling and it took Oikawa everything in his power not to take off his gloves and start picking at his skin. He’s not getting back from work, he went to the office to pick up the book he forgot there. If he takes the exact same train he always takes, it’s either due to habit or to some strange attachment to observing his ex-best friend. He doesn’t want to know. 

Hajime arrives in a hurry, seemingly a bit disoriented, barely managing to run through the doors as they slide close. Oikawa frowns - Hajime is never late, he always arrives early and sits down calmly on his usual seat. Tonight, though, the other man stands there, panting a bit, fumbling with his things inside the nice, expensive leather bag. He gets down on the next station, which is even stranger, because he always gets down at the same station every night, which is still 10 minutes away. He rushes off the train and, before Oikawa can yell at him, the doors slide close and his wallet stays there, on the floor. 

It’s such a human thing, dropping a wallet, something so normal and ordinary, that Oikawa stays there shocked for a few seconds before crouching down to grab it. 

Despite knowing best, he opens it - it’s almost instinctive, reaching out for a small bit of knowledge after 8 years of nothing. Inside, there’s a few dollar bills, one or two credit cards, a card that reads “Iwaizumi Hajime - therapist” ( _No surprises here_ , Oikawa ponders) and a photo. 

The photo is of him, Oikawa, Hanamaki and Matsukawa on graduation day. They all have tears in their eyes and smiles on their lips, and are jabbing at each other, Oikawa making the peace sign that used to be his trademark gesture while kissing Hajime at the cheek. He remembers that day perfectly - the only day in the entirety of senior year he recalls having felt the same connection to Hajime he’d lost years before. The two of them talked and laughed and hugged and cheered each other on when it was the time to receive their diplomas. Afterwards, the four boys ate together and slept over at Hajime’s, watching movies and making jokes and crying just a bit here and then. 

It’d been perfect. The perfect ending to his high school years. For a day, Oikawa thought everything would go back to how it used to be and him and Hajime would be best friends like they were before Oikawa ruined everything by falling in love. 

The next day shoved him back to reality. But the sweetness of his graduation night stuck with him since then. 

He has the exact same photo hanging on the wall of his bedroom. 

Oikawa puts Hajime’s wallet on his bag and buries his face in his hands so no one can see him cry. 

-

He braces himself for the upcoming awkward encounter. He might spend the entire afternoon freaking out about it. He might invade his neighbors' apartments because he made the stupid decision of taking the day off and now he has nothing to distract him. 

That's how he ends up pacing around Suga's apartment, dressed up in his pajama pants that have an alien pattern, hair sticking up everywhere.

Suga sighs from where he's sitting on the couch. “Oikawa. You’re being ridiculous. You’re returning his wallet, not asking for his hand in marriage.”

Oikawa turns to him, eyes wild. "Do you know when was the last time I spoke to him? Like, actually, truly spoke to him? In our high school graduation. Almost ten years ago."

"One more reason why it shouldn't be that big of a deal."

"That's _exactly_ what makes it that big of a deal!" 

"What are you even so afraid of? What's the worse that could happen?" 

"I've literally listed all the ways this could go wrong inside my head. Are you sure you're asking that question?"

Suga reaches out for him abruptly, closing his hand around his wrist. "I don't want to be that jerky neurotypical, but are you taking your meds properly?"

Oikawa scoffs, almost insulted. "I'm a _shrink_ , Suga. Of course I've been taking my fucking meds."

"You were picking at your skin. Again."

Oh. 

Oikawa fiddles with the tapes around the tip of his fingers, suddenly terribly self-conscious. Without being at the office, he has no excuse for wearing the gloves that make it harder for him to destroy his skin, so he has to settle for funny band-aids and tapes. 

He lets himself fall down on the couch next to his neighbor. "That's probably the anxiety. Meds don't work miracles."

“ _What_ are you so afraid of?"

“We haven’t talked to each other in almost a decade, Suga. I don’t even know if he remembers my name anymore. I don’t even know if he spares a thought for me here and then.” _Specially when I think of him everyday._

Suga smiles sweetly. “You're sounding like the narrator in your books now.”

“Oh, my God, there’s that too! I also have to answer Makki!” Oikawa exclaims, shoving his fingers inside his hair to distract him from picking at the corner of his fingers yet again.

“Have you decided? If you’re going to accept it?”

“Dunno."

“Do you _want_ to accept it?”

Oikawa turns his head towards the window. It’s raining outside, a weak, annoying little rain. “Say, Suga. How was it when your parents found out?”

Suga laughs, self-consciously. “Awful. It wouldn’t have made a difference, however I’d chosen to tell them. They’d hate me anyway.”

“Is that supposed to mean anything.”

“All I’m saying is: make choices you won’t regret. If your parents are anything like mine, you won’t be able to control their reaction. Just do what you think it’s best. For _yourself._ ”

-

Routine is routine. 

Hajime is there, in the exact same train at the exact same time. He looks a bit better, but the circles under his eyes are darker than usual. He’s not reading, or listening to music, or napping; he’s just grabbing at the pole and staring at the emptiness. 

Oikawa lets his instincts draw him towards the other. As much as he’d ruined everything the two of them built together, fifteen years of friendship tend to leave marks. It’s natural for Oikawa’s body to be drawn to Hajime, to dance to the tune of his breathing. When he touches his ex-best friend’s shoulder, it feels as easy as taking a deep breath after coming out of the water. He thought it’d be awful and sad and desperate, looking at Hajime’s eyes after so much time, but it’s _not._

“Hey.” he says, voice hoarse, and Hajime turns to him.  

He frowns for a second before widening his eyes, which are as sharp and firm as ever. “Tooru?”

Oikawa almost cries then and there, listening to his given name being said like _that_ , by _that_ voice, that exact cadence of sound. But Makki was right. He was more serious now. He was closer to thirty than to twenty years old. So he smiles and reaches for the wallet in the back pocket of his far-too-skinny jeans. “Yeah. Hi there, Iwa-chan. You dropped your wallet yesterday.” 

Hajime blinks and frowns again and it’s so familiar and so _him_ as he takes the wallet from Oikawa’s hand _._ “Thanks a lot, but never mind the wallet. It’s been so long, I-“ he shakes his head. “What the fuck?”

_So eloquent, Iwa-chan_ , Oikawa thinks, but agrees with him. What the fuck? 

“It’s been a while.” Oikawa concedes, and, when the train takes a curve, moves to grab the pole right above where Hajime’s holding it. He suddenly remembers the trip they took when they were twelve, how they were so excited about taking the trains and how Oikawa always preferred clinging to Hajime as the other secured the both of them. 

“It’s been ten years.” 

They stare at each other. After months of being unable to even look directly at him, Oikawa finds himself dragged into the depth of the other’s green eyes as if he was thirteen and falling in love all over again. 

The silence quickly becomes terribly thick and awkward, but they can’t say their goodbyes. Not now. Not when the thread between them has finally pulsed again after so many days of nothing. 

“So, what have you been doing?” Hajime blurts out at the same time Oikawa asks, “Why do you have a picture of our graduation in your wallet?” 

They giggle awkwardly. Oikawa’s station is already behind. Hajime’s the next, but he doesn’t move to grab his things or to leave. 

“I can answer first?” Oikawa offers gently. “I’m a psychiatrist. I have my own office now. And I’m having my first novel published in a few weeks. Now you go.” 

Hajime shakes his head again. “Trust the Grand King to be far too successful before he’s thirty.” hearing his old high school nickname spoken like that, softly and easily, stabs at Oikawa’s heart. Hard. “I’m a therapist and I’m working on my doctorate. About the picture. Well. I don’t know? It was one of the best days of my life. So.” 

“Why?” Oikawa hears himself asking and almost wants to take it back, but the words seem to come out of both of them as quickly and out of control as the train speeding through the tunnels and stations. 

His ex-best friend scratches at the back of his head. “I don’t know, I-“ he sighs. He sounds tired. “You know why.”

_We haven’t talked in ten years, Iwa-chan, I don’t know anything._ “It was one of the best days in my life too, but I’m not sure if it was for the same reason as yours…?” 

As they look at each other, they just _know_ it was the exact same reason.

“Would you-“ Hajime starts, but cuts himself short before clearing his throat and trying again. “Do you have the time tonight? We could go out, eat something? I haven’t had dinner yet.”

Oikawa doesn’t have the time, he promised to go out with his neighbors for drinks. 

But everyone who’s been in Oikawa’s life for long enough knows that there’s only one person for whom he will always make an exception, will always find the time.

“Sure.” he answers with a smile. “What did you have in mind?”

“Um. Do you still like pizza?”

“Is the sky still blue, Iwa-chan?”

It takes a second for them to realize he made a joke, and another second for them to laugh. Their laughters used to fit better together, but it’s more than enough for Oikawa for now. 

-

“Do you still talk to them?” Oikawa asks, pointing at the photo inside Hajime’s wallet. 

The walk from the station to the pizza place was, if that’s possible, even more uncomfortable than the train ride. Oikawa didn’t know what to do with his hands, and Hajime tripped on his own feet at least three times. They didn’t exchange a word on the way to the restaurant, walking side by side on the mostly-empty sidewalks. 

The restaurant was cozy, though, comfortable enough to make Oikawa unclench his fists inside the pockets of his coat and to make Hajime look more sure of himself as he asked the nice waitress for a table for two. After stumbling around suggestions and trying to find a good wine to share, they managed to relax - as much as possible with so many unsaid words between them - on their seats and start talking.

“Yeah.” says Hajime, sipping at the glass of wine. His hands are strong, Oikawa notices, but less calloused than they were at high school. “I'm closer to Matsukawa, but him and Hanamaki come as a package.”

People used to say Oikawa and Iwaizumi came as a package too. The Grand King and his knight, the setter and his ace. Back when Oikawa still played volleyball and had more hopes than anything else in his mind. 

Oikawa hums in agreement and twirls the glass in his hand, smelling the wine delicately before sipping it. The thin silver ring he wears on his thumb clinks against the glass.

“You're staring.” Hajime mumbles and hides behind the menu he’s not even checking anymore. 

“Huh? Oh, I’m sorry.” the psychiatrist smiles sheepishly. “It’s just weird. Seeing you drinking wine. I was the only one who drank wine back in high school.” 

“I like wine better than beer, always have, but everyone said drinking wine is for gays.” Oikawa doesn’t even have the time to feel insulted when the other adds, with a scoff, “I ended up being gay anyway, so it made no difference.”

He almost spits out his wine. “ _Gay_?”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yes?”

Oikawa’s entire world is turning upside down and yet, at the same time, his mind is saying, _Big fucking surprise, he had a crush on Orlando Bloom and practically swooned everytime we watched Lord of the Rings._ “What about your _girlfriend_?”

A shrug. “She cheated on me, and we broke up, but I’d realized I was gay far sooner.”

“Why didn’t I know about this?”

“At the time I found out, you were barely around. And I thought you knew anyway. Your gaydar is infallible.” 

_At the time I found out, you were barely around._

Oikawa wants to bolt out of the restaurant and run to Suga’s apartment. For now, though, he can do nothing but stay here and talk. Talk for the first time in a decade. 

The pizza arrives with perfect timing, and they dive in into it, trying to distract themselves from the upcoming conversation they both know they need to have. It’s not long before it’s over, though, so Oikawa sips his wine and takes a deep breath. 

“What do you mean, I was barely around?”

Hajime doesn’t look at him. “You just - you weren’t. After that day, you just kind of drifted off? You started avoiding me and yeah.”

Oikawa remembers. The day he confessed, the falling apart, the bitter, bitter regret that ate at him every single day, the voice inside his head that sounded like his father and called him _a stupid worthless fag who destroys everything he touches_. He remembers far too well. He wishes he could forget it, to be quite honest.

“Yeah, well, what was I supposed to do?” he laughs, somewhat bitterly. Oikawa is a mean drunk. Actually, scratch that. Oikawa’s _mean_. To himself and to others. “I loved you so much and I thought you fucking hated me. I wasn’t going to stay around and watch.”

“What do you mean, you thought I hated you? I thought _you_ hated _me_.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen. The absurdity of that statement is so blatant it confuses him for a few seconds. “Hate you? Iwa-chan, _Hajime_ , back then I’d do absolutely anything for you, how could I ever hate you-“

The kiss is so abrupt and unexpected it throws Oikawa completely off balance. Hajime has his hand on the back of Oikawa’s neck and his lips are moving and Oikawa hears a peculiar sound coming out of his own throat before he grabs at Hajime’s shirt and kisses back so sincerely his eyes burn with unshed tears. His mind is a mess, a complete mess of thoughts and feelings and details and he can’t focus on anything other than Hajime’s fingers pressing against his skin and his lips so warm against his own. It feels so different from their first kiss - that was soft and shy and scared, and this, this is almost _desperate_. 

When they part, Hajime looks terrified. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry, Tooru, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came onto me, I’m-“

The sound of the slap cuts through the air of the restaurant, loud enough for some of the other costumers shift on their seats. The two of them chose a secluded enough spot, though, so they don’t draw much attention. Hajime’s cheek is starting to turn red as Oikawa says between gritted teeth, “Don’t you dare apologize for something that has been my fucking dream for over fifteen years now. Don’t you fucking dare.” 

They don’t kiss again. They just stare at each other like they’re trading all the burning embers of their feelings between them, exchanging pain and regret and remorse and hope hope hope hope

Hajime’s the one who talks again, voice shy, like he’s twelve and asking for a first kiss with his best friend. “Tooru, will you _please_ -“

Oikawa stops him with a gesture of his hand. “Wait. Don’t- don’t ask. Not now. I need to think. Just- my answer is probably yes, but not right now. I need to go home and think.” he downs what’s left of his wine and gets up, putting the bills to pay his share of the dinner on the table. His lips are tingling and Hajime is looking up at him with big, hopeful, sincere eyes.

“What about tomorrow?” Hajime asks, and Oikawa’s heart shatters. 

He nods. “Tomorrow. We’ll meet up at the train.”

“Okay then.”

When Oikawa walks away, he brushes his hand on Hajime’s shoulder and presses a light kiss on the top of his head, and doesn’t have to look back to feel the other’s eyes on him.

“Have a safe ride home, Iwa-chan.”

“You too, Tooru.”

-

He calls Makki as soon as he’s out of the restaurant. 

“Hello, Makki?”

“Oikawa?”

“I’m in. I’m gonna have my book release at your event.” 

“That’s so great, thank you so much!” Makki’s smiles are always so raw and real one can feel them through his voice. “What about your parents?”

“Fuck my parents.” 

**Author's Note:**

> every time i reread evermore it broke my heart a bit further. this is me wanting to give it a happy ending. also a coping mechanism. because every fucking thing i write is a coping mechanism.


End file.
